The Day Our World Was Flipped On Its Side
by patster223
Summary: A bus crash. A dying son. The repressed guilt. And that day that kept changing their lives.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of its characters. That would be Steve Franks.**

**Author's Note: This is a fic I wrote about a year ago (time flies!), and I'm reposting it here. YAY MULTI-CHAPTEREDNESS! \o/ **

**And I'll be updating this daily(ish) since it's already complete. :D**

**March 17**

Today was their day. Today was their special little anniversary. Henry had always hated anniversaries. Depending on the occasion, they were just excuses to either buy expensive, unnecessary gifts, or to drink the day away. Today's anniversary was the latter.

Henry clutched his bottle and drank. He hadn't been there for very long. The bar's residents were currently ignoring the no smoking sign, and if it were any other night Henry would have reprimanded them. But tonight he found it hard to care about the smoke filling the room. It had just been one of those days.

Henry saw Shawn enter the bar out of his peripherals, but didn't move from his barstool. If Shawn wanted to finish their argument, he wasn't going to stand up to meet him. He had come to Tom Blair's to avoid a fight, and he wasn't about to go looking for one now. As Shawn walked up to the barstool his dad was sitting on, Henry took a casual sip of his next beer.

Instead of saying anything, Shawn just sighed and sat down on the stool next to him. "Can I have a beer?" he asked the bartender. Shawn was avoiding Henry's eyes and trying to find something to say to fill the awkward silence.

"Look…Dad…" he sighed. He shifted in his seat. "It's been a rough day; want me to buy the next round?"

Henry knew that Shawn was avoiding what topic he really wanted to talk about. Shawn had always done that as a kid too, talking about Legos when he really wanted to talk about something else. Well, Henry was getting a little tired of it. If Shawn wanted to talk about today, he'd need to come out and say it.

Henry nodded and took another sip from his beer. "So what's on your mind, Shawn?" he asked. "I think you've said everything you needed to say already."

Shawn winced at the mention of the fight. It appeared his dad could hold grudges just as long as he could. He didn't say anything, and instead sipped at his beer. His eyes still hadn't left the counter. "I was a little pissed, Dad, I didn't mean any of it."

"Sure you didn't, Shawn. Sorry to break this to you, but you meant every word." Henry didn't look angry at Shawn, much to Shawn's surprise. He had always thought of anger as his dad's default emotion regarding him, though this time he wasn't sure what his father was feeling. Shawn, the person trained to notice details, didn't see the clues in his dad's expression.

"Let's just get today over with," Shawn muttered, finishing off his beer. Placing it on the counter, he realized it had joined a few other bottles on the counter. "Dad, how many beers have you had?" He didn't wait for an answer and instead counted the bottles. "You're on your fourth?" he said, looking at his dad. Sure enough, Henry appeared to be in that in-between area between drunk and sober. Definitely not drunk, but sure as hell getting there. Shawn sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"How much is this going to cost him?" Shawn asked the bartender. Henry looked up in bewilderment.

"Shawn, what the hell are you doing? I can pay for my own drinks."

Shawn threw a few bills on the counter. "You can pay me back," he said, zipping up his jacket.

Henry snorted. "Considering all the money you've borrowed from me, this is more like paying me back."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I paid you back that twenty. It just mysteriously disappeared from your wallet." Before Henry could start up that particular argument again, Shawn quickly ushered him out of the bar. Henry breathed in the fresh air and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He began to walk away when Shawn grabbed him by the arm. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Are you sure you want to drive right now?"

"Shawn, do I look like an idiot?" Before Shawn could answer the rhetorical question, Henry continued, "Lassiter drove me down here from the police station, and got a call from the station before he could join me. I told him he should go and that I could find my own way home if he didn't get back before I was ready to go."

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "What, you were going to walk? A bit far, isn't it?"

"Not all of us are scared of walking a few miles, Shawn," Henry said, growing impatient with his son's games.

"Dad, there was a raccoon after me. By going on that hike I would have been a sitting duck," Shawn insisted. "And I think it's a little more than a few miles."

Though he'd never admit it, Shawn would be worried about his dad if he tried to walk home in his condition. The man looked tired enough as it was without adding a three mile walk to his troubles. Shawn groaned internally. "Dad, wait here a second," he said, going inside. Not knowing if Henry would heed his order, Shawn quickly gave his keys to the bartender, saying he'd be back for them tomorrow. When he jogged back outside, Henry had miraculously stayed where he was. Shawn tapped him on the shoulder. "How about we take a bus?"

Not waiting for his answer, Shawn began walking towards the nearest bus stop. Henry sighed in exasperation, but followed. It was a clear night, with no clouds to obscure the stars. The slight balminess of the city blew about Shawn and Henry's jackets and made for a cooler night. Shawn stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked away a pebble that was in his path. His dad seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact as he sat down on the weathered bench. Shawn held onto the faded bus stop sign with one hand and leaned back from it.

"So what case is Lassie working on?" he said, for a lack of anything else. His dad was often the silent type, and not always one to start up a conversation. One thing that Shawn had learned through all of the awkward silences that he had endured was that cop talk often got his dad to open up a little more. This time, however, Henry just shrugged.

"He didn't say which one. I assume the Hardison case, since that's the one you've been working on."

Shawn nodded and didn't attempt to get any more conversation out of his dad. If Henry Spencer didn't feel like talking, you didn't. The results usually weren't rewarding enough to make up for the effort. The streets were emptying out as the residents of Santa Barbara began to head in and fall asleep. The only people who were left were the brave dog owners who endured having to walk their pets even at this odd hour, and the occasional teens hanging out and moaning about their troubles. Shawn looked up at the sky and his mind automatically found the different constellations that his mom had once shown him. He had soon found most of them though, and looked at his watch. Damn it, waiting in the middle of nowhere for a bus was one thing, but waiting while his dad had that disappointed look on his face was something he didn't want to deal with today.

Two headlights cut through the darkness as the small, blue bus rolled to a stop in front of them. The door creaked open and the bus driver nodded politely at them. Henry shuffled down the aisle without acknowledging the man and took a seat in the back. He sighed when he saw Shawn at the front of the bus making small talk with the bus driver.

"Shawn!" he called, just wanting to go home already. His son threw him a grin and he walked over to Henry.

"Come on Dad, Bill and I were just starting to chat," he said sitting in the seat across from Henry. Shawn had felt relieved that things had seemed back to normal with that "Shawn!" but Henry just sighed and sat back in his seat. Henry looked around the bus, his eyes taking in the scene. There were few people on it, only the bus driver, and a man near the front who held his girlfriend's hand. Fiancé, Henry thought, noticing the rings on their fingers. He pulled his eyes away from them and over to Shawn. His son had apparently given up on him and was now looking out the window as the bus rolled along. Henry felt a twinge of regret. He knew he was nursing a grudge right now. It didn't seem much to ask to be angry for one night, especially with all the grudges that Shawn had held over the years, but it was still too hard to stay angry at the kid. Especially today.

Shawn, feeling Henry's gaze on him, turned and gave Henry one of his trademark grins. That's what Henry remembered most. His memory took that image and clung to it that entire night. The picture of Shawn, half turned towards him, giving him that smile. Later Henry would remember the smile and think of it as the soldier's last, hope-filled smile before they went out on the battlefield, not thinking about the family about to be left behind.

Shawn didn't see the headlights coming from outside his window as the bus drove past the green light into the intersection. The bright light didn't blind him; he didn't have to squint to see past it. He didn't have to see his face, harshly illuminated by the light for that single moment. He didn't have to see his own features, looking innocent and small in comparison to the light that commanded the whole bus. He never had to see his head jerking backward violently as the window behind him broke into a thousand tiny mirrors. Shawn never saw the semi-truck as it crashed into the bus with a violent concussion.


	2. Chapter 2

Shawn couldn't seem to process his dad's deer-in-a-headlights look before he heard the crash. For some reason, he heard the vehicles colliding before feeling it himself, feeling almost apart from the collision as it happened. He heard the initial impact of the vehicles colliding, so loud he felt like he should have caused permanent damage in his ear. It sounded like a pop can being crushed by some kid's hand, except times one hundred.

As soon as he heard the sound of windows breaking, he could feel the stinging shards burying themselves into his back. Shawn thought irrationally that he didn't remember feeling any pain when he and Gus had accidentally broken his dad's window. Shawn remembered his dad getting furious about that, so he hoped he wouldn't be now.

Before he could even begin to realize the pain of the glass, Shawn's head snapped backward painfully fast as if he had gone on the tilt-o-whirl one too many times. Shawn almost laughed at the thought of comparing a bus crash to a day at the fair. He was thrown from his seat and into the aisle, his body hitting the ground with a thump.

Shawn, who had shut his eyes tightly at the impact, opened them cautiously. There was almost too much to see, too much to process as the bus was thrown about. The lights were all loosened and most were only flickering on and off sporadically, if they worked at all. He saw the bus driver being thrown back and forth, though kept in place by his seat belt, as he blindly tried to steer the bus. _To where?_ Shawn wondered stupidly. Was this crash just a location, somewhere you could leave behind without another thought? He saw the couple, who were both in the middle of the aisle. They looked scared as hell as they clung to the legs of the seat with a death grip. Shawn noticed that they were still holding hands, even now.

Shawn frowned, trying to place the remaining passenger of the bus. He groaned and tried to sit up despite the rocking of the bus. His body protested the movement, but Shawn forced himself upward while clinging to the leg of his seat. He looked around and saw his dad's empty seat. For a moment he panicked, thinking his dad had somehow left the bus. Over the screeching of the bus's wheels as it desperately tried to stay upright, Shawn heard his name being called. His whirled around, barely suppressing a scream at the sudden movement, and saw his dad had been throw into the aisle as well, and had slid to the back of the bus. For a moment, the darkened bus drove under the path of a streetlight and was cast into the yellow light that seemed to make the blue bus a sickly green. Shawn and Henry looked into each other's eyes and Shawn could almost hear his dad's sigh of relief. Shawn however, didn't feel like celebrating the brief moment in which they had realized the other was still alive, for all that Shawn had managed to glimpse of his father's condition under the brief illumination was a wound in his head that was already beginning to seep blood. The image made Shawn's lunch threaten to come up, the blood looking like some kind of sick toupee on his father's head.

Sliding down the aisle, Shawn was brought back to his senses. The bus could defy gravity no longer as it tipped precariously on one set of wheels, before rolling over and falling with a crash onto its side. Shawn lost track of the other passengers as he was jerked from his position in the aisle. He threw his arms out wildly and caught himself on one of the seat legs. He then went from being on his side to hanging on for dear life as the bus was carried by its momentum onto its back. As the bus continued to roll, Shawn was thrown to all sides, feeling the bruises instantly after he hit the metal sides of the bus. His teeth were gritted tight as he tried to prevent himself from crying out in pain. After God knows how many rolls, Shawn unwillingly loosened his death grip on the chair leg and fell to the floor (unless it was the ceiling, he really wasn't sure anymore). He crashed onto the hard surface and couldn't restrain a cry of pain. As soon as he had landed, a sharp burning pain had been thrust into his leg. Shawn felt his vision blackening and stubbornly refused to drift off. As Shawn struggled to keep his eyes open, he saw his dad, only a few yards away from him. He was holding onto the seat leg for dear life, as the bus began to skid across the street. Shawn could only see the red toupee his father had on, and wondered why he had chosen it in that color.

Another collision rattled the bus's passengers and the bus, still on its side, flew along the street. Shawn was thrown from where he was to what was left of the window, and he felt his head slam against the glass, creating a sharp pain that threatened to send him into unconsciousness.

He saw his dad, somehow managing to crawl a few feet closer to him. He felt nauseous from the throbbing in his skull and relieved at his dad's appearance. His dad would know what to do, how to get rid of this stupid pain in his head.

Shawn, his arm feeling like lead, tried to reach out and grab his dad's hand. He felt his fingertips brushing against an arm as the bus at last screeched to a halt, the sudden stop sending Shawn flying forward to a not so soft landing on the floor, or whichever side of the bus passed for the floor now. He screamed as most of his weight landed right on his leg. Yeah, he was definitely starting to black out now.

Shawn breathed deeply for a second, his exhales coming out as loud gasps that filled the sudden silence. Funnily enough, gasps of pain didn't sound quite as sexy as they did in the movies. He bit his lip to stop to distract himself from the pain and pushed it to the back of his mind.

Shawn forced his eyes open and crawled forward, ignoring the broken glass embedding itself in his arms and the fierce pain that was radiating up and down his leg. He kept his eyes open, only managing to focus them enough to see his father lying on the floor with his eyes closed.

He crawled the few feet towards his dad and weakly nudged his arm. Henry moaned and his eyes fluttered open. Though Shawn struggled to push himself high enough to get into his dad's line of sight, he still had enough strength to give his dad a reassuring smile.

With a shaking hand, he tried in vain to put pressure on his father's head wound, trying to stop all that blood. "Stay…stay with me Dad," he said, having to breathe deeply a few times just to get those few words out. At that moment his elbows gave out from under him and Shawn collapsed against the floor, too tired to keep himself up any longer.

Shawn's thoughts moved around sluggishly. The only thing he could seem to think was that it hadn't all been in slow motion like in the movies. For some reason, the suddenness of the crash and how quickly it had occurred surprised him. Like it should have happened slowly enough for him to be able to comprehend everything, and why it had happened at all.

He could feel another body beside him, but couldn't focus enough to see it clearly. He heard them as they crawled next to him. Shawn grumbled when the person started nudging him, causing flares of pain up and down his body. Why couldn't they leave him well enough alone? Shawn was about to protest, assuming anything resembling words would come out of his mouth, when the nudging stopped. He sighed in relief.

The last thing Shawn remembered seeing were the blue seats, in two neat little rows. Shawn found it odd that those seats were the only things that hadn't been thrown about by the bus. As Shawn's vision blackened, he saw that one of the blue seats was no longer blue, but a dark red. That red seat stood out more prominently from its blue counterparts.

Shawn breathed deeply and it sounded obnoxiously loud to him. He briefly wondered how it could sound so silent compared to the chaos of before, and then gratefully feel into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry had felt helpless throughout the entire crash. It wasn't a feeling he had ever enjoyed. It wasn't something he had ever wanted to know. He remembered seeing Shawn, with the headlights behind him, then watching as his son was tossed into the aisle and he was thrown down the other side of the bus. His head had hit the metal door with a sickening thud and he almost bit through his lip to fight back the cry of pain that threatened to accompany it. He had almost blacked out then and there. But the memory of Shawn came to the front of his mind and he stubbornly held onto consciousness. He had to unclench his teeth and let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in order to finally speak.

"Shawn!"

His son, with bits of glass sticking out of him like he was some deranged artist's masterpiece, turned towards him. Their eyes met before Henry was once again thrown from his spot on the floor. The bus turned around God knows how many times. Henry could only focus on trying to hold on to the leg of the seat, not to fall victim to the rolling metal vehicle. Then there was the scream. The scream that would no doubt haunt his dreams assuming he made it out of here alive. He recognized the scream as one of unbearable pain, a sound that sent chills up and down his spine. That sound was never supposed to come from Shawn. Not if he was there to protect his son's ass; there was no way he could let his son be in that much pain.

Henry heard the deafening screech of the bus as it slid across the street. He tightened his grip on the seat leg and pulled himself forward, trying in vain to get closer to his son. He saw Shawn looking at him with relief in his eyes. Like Henry was supposed to be able to save him. He saw Shawn's arm reach for him, but he was unable to close the gap as the bus suddenly stopped in its tracks. Henry was thrown away from his son and was unable to keep his eyes open as he hit his already throbbing head on one of the bus seats.

He could feel a searing pain in his arm that was only muted by the agony that felt like a nail was being driven slowly into his skull. He tried to focus on breathing, on staying awake and not falling into an unconsciousness which seemed very appealing right now. He wasn't able to do much beyond that at the moment, and even the smallest motion on his part seemed to aggravate his already monstrous headache. He listened to the tinkle of glass moving as a body shuffled towards him. A slight shake of his shoulder caused his head to pound unmercifully and he moaned. The pain was enough to force his eyes open and he saw Shawn leaning over him. As strange as it sounded, he'd never been so happy that his son was there to cause him pain.

"Stay…" Shawn panted, barely managing to speak above a whisper. "Stay with me Dad."

Henry wondered how bad he must look for Shawn to be worrying about his safety above his own. He gingerly touched his scalp and winced when his fingertips came away with red. He was about to answer Shawn, to lie and tell him that he was just fine, but at that moment Shawn collapsed on the floor next to him.

If the pain hadn't entirely snapped him out of his daze, the sight of his son lying motionless on the floor did. "Shawn!" he cried, trying to crawl the few inches that separated his son from him.

As Henry tried to move his left arm, he grunted and inhaled sharply through his nose. The dormant pain inside what was most likely a broken arm had flared up when he tried to move it. He ignored it and continued to crawl forward with only one arm. Henry felt like he was moving too slowly, like the time he had wasted figuring out the state of his arm could be costing Shawn his life. He tried to tell himself that Shawn would tease him for thinking such an irrational thought. Because he didn't know what he would do if his fear was true. _Oh God no, _Henry thought desperately. _Please don't let him be dead. He can't be, he just-_

Henry almost smiled at the annoyed grumbling that had come of his repeated prodding of Shawn. Even when the kid had been through a bus ride from hell, he could still muster the energy to protest.

Henry turned away from Shawn and gripped his head. Oh God, did it hurt. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He had to see the details. He had to put them all together. It was all he could think to do.

He slowly opened his eyes and took in the scene with a critical eye. He was lying awkwardly on the side of the bus, the few pieces of glass that were left in the window digging into his leg. He moved his leg slightly and looked around the bus. The bus driver was still in his seat, unconscious, but the seat belt appeared to have protected him from the worst of the crash. The man and the woman were a few feet away from each other. The woman seemed to be knocked out and the man was beside her, trying to comfort her with the little energy he had left.

Henry didn't know if he was strong enough to look at the remaining passenger on the bus. He could objectify the bus, the passengers, even the crash. But not his son.

Henry took a deep breath and looked at Shawn, taking in every one of his injuries with the distance of an officer writing his report. That still didn't stop him from feeling slightly nauseated at Shawn's appearance.

The thing that immediately drew Henry's eye was Shawn's leg. A large piece of metal, most likely a piece of bus pole, jutted out of his thigh. "Jesus," Henry murmured. He couldn't see the pole coming out of the other side of his leg, but it sure as hell was in there deep. The top half of the pole had been painted rusty red from the blood pouring steadily out of Shawn's wound. His jeans from the waistband to the knees were wet with the stuff. Henry could only stare at the blood for a moment, wondering how there could be so much of it.

Shawn's quiet moan quickly snapped him out of his trance. His mind raced as he struggled with what to do. It would take more than a few minutes for an ambulance to arrive, and God knows how much longer for paramedics to navigate their way into the interior of the bus. Henry looked again at the blood leaking from Shawn's wound. He had been trained in first aid, and he knew that applying direct pressure to the wound, elevation, and pressure points were often the best way to stop bleeding out. But Henry was afraid to move Shawn's leg or put pressure on the already deep gash for fear of making it worse. Henry sighed and carefully took off his jacket, but still not careful enough to spare himself movement of his wounded arm. His breathing grew harsh when he barely waited for the pain to subside before turning his attention to Shawn.

Henry had performed a tourniquet in the field once before, in a robbery standoff gone wrong. But he knew the risks involved. The stop of blood flow, while life saving, could lead to tissue damage. But he would take tissue damage over death any day.

In the twenty seconds it had taken Henry to make this decision, Shawn had grown even paler. Henry quickly wrapped his jacket just above the wound, careful not to jar it. That didn't stop him from accidentally grazing the pole, which resulted in a sharp gasp of pain from Shawn. "Stop," he groaned, the most conscious he had been in minutes.

Henry sighed in relief. "It's for your own good, Kid," he said, making sure the jacket was secure around his son's thigh. Shawn whimpered but held very still as Henry adjusted the makeshift bandage. Sweat was beginning to pour down Shawn's forehead and his breathing had grown more rapid in the last few minutes. His eyes opened slightly and his weak smile was only a shadow of its former self.

"Stay with me, Shawn," Henry said, though Shawn's eyes still fluttered closed out of exhaustion. 

Watching as Shawn passed out seemed to drain the energy from him. Henry began to feel the effects of his possible concussion as it punished him for ignoring the injury for so long. His head began to throb in a slow steady rhythm as he eased himself to the floor. He would have shaken his head in frustration if he had felt like running the risk of his head imploding. He needed to help Shawn; his injuries could wait.

Shawn was lying on his side, his breathing slightly steadier than before - not that it was much of an improvement. Pieces of glass were still embedded in his back, and Henry's weak attempts to remove them only resulted in dislodging a few of the many small pieces. Somewhere outside, a streetlight had managed to somewhat illuminate the bus, making the small red pieces of the window prominent in Shawn's hair. His sleeve had been torn, and a gash slowly seeping blood could be seen. There was a large bruise blossoming on his cheek, and it seemed even darker when put into comparison with his pale skin. _A bruise is the least of the kid's problems_, Henry thought as he noticed the puddle of blood beneath Shawn that had stained his jeans an ugly purple.

Henry managed to turn onto his back without jarring his arm, and he turned his head so that he was facing Shawn. It was almost like looking at a corpse. Shawn's deathly white complexion and his battered body made him look like a victim at a crime scene. The only thing that assured Henry that Shawn was still alive was the almost imperceptible movement of his chest rising up and down.

Henry's neck protested being in this position for so long and he again turned onto his back. But this way he had no way of knowing if Shawn was still alive, or if his life had slipped away while he had lain beside him helplessly. Henry gently grabbed Shawn's wrist and felt for a pulse. The thump of an artery greeted him. The almost rhythmical pulsing of his blood was oddly comforting.

Henry looked up at the ceiling. It was strange to be looking up at the bus windows, instead of out them. The little pieces of glass that had stubbornly refused to break from the crash were now falling one by one, piece by little piece, as they fell slowly , hauntingly, towards the ground, creating a miniature symphony as they hit the floor. Henry listened as the ringing bells of the glass joined the beating of Shawn's pulse to make a song that differed largely from the fast, wild beat that had been the crash. The tinkling glass softly combated the strong drum beat of the pulse.

Henry listened to the symphony of sounds, most of all Shawn's beating pulse. That was the sound that mattered to him the most.

_Thump thump_

The missing panes of glass in the windows provided a view of the night sky above them, which perhaps would have been a neat effect if not for the circumstances in which it had occurred. Henry could see past the empty frames of the windows and outside the crash. The stars looked down at him, and he saw the different constellations in the sky.

_Thump thump_

What if this hadn't happened?

_Thump thump_

What if Shawn hadn't followed him to the bar?

_Thump thump_

What if they hadn't taken the bus?

_Thump thump_

Quite frankly, Henry didn't do "what ifs". He didn't see the point of dwelling on what could have been when you could look forward and get on with your life. When you're a cop, you get used to this point of view. You get cold cases, you get escaped criminals, and "what ifs" did nothing except distract you from the next case.

Logically speaking, they were a waste of then again, logic never really got rid of the "what ifs".

_Thump thump_

What if the ambulance didn't make it in time?

_Thump thump_

What if Shawn and he had never fought tonight?

_Thump thump_

What if Shawn left him? What if he left him again…?

_Thump thump _

_**March 17 1995**_

_The quiet thump of feet on the steps preceded Shawn's entrance into the kitchen. Henry looked up from the meaningless words on the newspaper. He knew that Shawn would pretend not to notice that he had been reading the same page for over an hour._

_Shawn pulled out one of the three chairs that surrounded the kitchen table and sat in it, ignoring the creak of the well worn wood. Shawn began picking at the table, and ran his fingers along the scratches that ran along it. _

"_So," he said with a forced cheerfulness. "Have you read the comics yet? I have to catch up on my Garfield," Shawn said as if he were talking about celebrity gossip. He looked down and sighed. "That cat gets me every time."_

_Henry wordlessly handed him the comics section, which had been separated from the rest of the newspaper. He knew that Shawn had come down here for more than the comics. He never went outright with what he wanted to say, instead delaying subjects for days at a time. Henry waited patiently for Shawn__,__ as he leafed through the comics and glanced down at the cat without a smile. _

"_Eating a pizza," Shawn laughed. "What is it with that cat and eating? He stays in good shape though, I admire that." _

_Henry listened to his son's spew nonsense about Garfield and waited to hear what was really on Shawn's mind. Not that he didn't already know. The empty third chair at the table said more than the memory of last night could._

_Shawn, knowing that his father was waiting for his inane babbling to stop, got out of his seat and made himself a bowl of Cheerios as an attempt to avoid any conversation. Henry didn't get how it was possible to avoid a topic and want to talk about it at the same time, but Shawn managed it. _

_Suddenly changing tracks, Shawn abandoned the box of Cheerios and grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes instead. He poured the cereal into the bowl and drowned it in milk. He sat back down at the table, and__,__ without looking at his dad, took a bite out of the soggy flakes. _

"_Shawn," Henry said finally. "We have to talk about this."_

_Shawn looked up at his cereal and stared long and hard at his dad. "We have to, Dad? What, a meteor will fall to Earth if we don't bare our souls to each other, is that it? Because as much as I'd love to prevent the Earth's destruction, I really can't talk about my feelings with you."_

"_Stop being an idiot," Henry said. "I know it's difficult for you to actually be serious about anything, but I'm not asking much from you."_

"_Okay, what do you want to talk about? 'Oh, hey Shawn, your mom left, P.S. you have to stay with me.'" The joking had left Shawn's eyes. "I knew that. So what's so important that you need to say?"_

_Henry groaned internally. His son just wasn't going to make it easy for him, was he? "I just wanted to say, I'm…sorry it turned out this way for your mom and me."_

"_Yeah, so am I," Shawn said scathingly. _

"_Alright, Shawn, I've had it!" Henry snapped. "Whenever I try to do something for you, you throw it right back in my face, and I'm tired of trying anymore."_

"_You're doing this for me?" Shawn laughed without any humor. "That's funny, it sounds like you're just apologizing to get rid of your own guilt."_

"_I'm apologizing so you don't feel any guilt about what happened!"_

"_Why would I feel guilty for this, Dad? We both know it was all your fault that Mom left!" Shawn tried to stop yelling, but his voice rose automatically as he kept going. "You're the one who drove her away! You're the one who couldn't hold onto her!"_

_Henry was taken aback by this, but hid the pain that had stemmed from Shawn's words. He didn't know why he did what he did next. Maybe it was the heat of the moment. Maybe all of his anger just built up and Shawn was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it happened._

"_Don't blame me for all of it, Shawn. You're the only thing we ever seemed to fight about!"_

_Shawn's angry expression slipped, but for just a moment, before his features rearranged to indifference. _

_Henry cursed under his breath. "Shawn, I didn't mean that." Damn it, why did he say that? Good cops didn't let their anger bubble up to the surface, and they certainly didn't say idiotic things they didn't mean. _

_Shawn looked down at the table and avoided Henry's eyes. He got up from the table and abandoned his soggy cereal as he walked upstairs without a word._

_Shawn didn't say much of anything for the next three months. Not even when his dad arrested him. And as soon as he got out of jail he left._

_Left Henry all alone._


	4. Chapter 4

Henry had tried to wake Shawn several times without success. Not that he could do much with one arm, but Henry Spencer had certainly woken up Shawn with less.

It was worrying Henry. Shawn had been unconscious for… how long had it been? A few minutes? A few hours? Though the former was more likely, it felt more like the latter.

Shawn's breathing was still as harsh as it had been, and his pulse had slowed down in the last few… whatever was used to measure time when your world was turned on its side.

Henry rolled over slightly and gently shook his son's shoulder, treating him as though he were made of glass. "Shawn," he whispered. "Damn it, wake up." Shawn didn't move, his eyelids didn't flicker. Henry sighed, but didn't move away from Shawn when his attempts to wake him seemed futile.

Henry still held onto Shawn's wrist. He listened to the soft pulse. Henry stroked his thumb gently across Shawn's wrist, like he had once, back when the relationship with his son was uncomplicated. Back when there was no yelling or silence, for those two extremes didn't exist.

"We're always fighting, aren't we?" Henry said to Shawn. He knew he sounded stupid, talking to a dying man, but it was coping. It let him believe that Shawn was still awake, that he could get better. And if Henry even considered another outcome, he was afraid Shawn would leave right then and there.

"I guess there's just something about this day," he said sadly. "First your mom left, then the fight, and now this."

Shawn's pulse only seemed to grow weaker as Henry continued talking to him. Henry felt himself fading as well, but he pushed his injuries to the back of his mind and tried to focus.

"I don't want my last memory of you to be of us fighting," Henry admitted. "We've been fighting for the past twenty years."

_"It was fourteen years ago, Shawn! Let it go!"_

"I'm sick of fighting."

_"How am I supposed to 'let it go'? My own father told me his divorce was all my fault! I was only eighteen, Dad, how did you expect me to deal with that?"_

"I'm tired of us blaming each other."

_Henry was stunned into silence. Shawn had never mentioned the fight, after fourteen years. Henry had wanted to think he had forgotten all about it, but in the back of his mind he knew. Shawn never forgot. _

"Fourteen years ago…that was probably the dumbest day of my life."

_"You said it was my fault, but you know what, it wasn't! It was your fault; it's always been your fault! You should have held onto Mom, you should have been a better father, and you should have kept your family together!"_

"I lost your mom…And even though you were in the house for the next few God-awful months, I lost you."

_Shawn sighed angrily, knowing that every word he uttered hurt his dad, but he just couldn't stop, he couldn't stop…"It's never been my fault. It's always been your's."_

Henry's eyes lit up with determination and he squeezed Shawn's hand to make sure he was listening. "But damn it if I'm going to lose you today, Shawn. I'm not letting go this time. You're getting off of this bus."

Shawn's eyes twitched and, for a second, Henry thought he was going to wake up, but Shawn still lay motionless. For Henry it was enough, to have his son alive. That may have been a sign of just how bad things were, but Henry didn't dwell on it.

The exhaustion came suddenly, a break from the high of confessions that Henry had been riding. He breathed slowly, and sat back down. He was sure to keep one hand on Shawn's wrist, to make sure that the pulse was still there. He lay his head down on the ground, the thumping of his head blocking out almost everything else.

He felt tired. Tired of fighting, tired of guilt, physically tired, just…tired. Henry felt his eyelids close, and shook his head. He instantly regretted the decision as he was met with agonizing pain, but at least it kept him awake. He needed to stay awake. If he was awake, Shawn was awake. If Henry were more lucid, he would have acknowledged that this logic didn't make sense. But then again, nothing seemed to be logical today.

Everything seemed slower. His breathing, Shawn's pulse, it all seemed to move along sluggishly and with difficulty. Henry watched Shawn breathe and the world faded until the bus was just a place in the background. The blue blur seemed distorted and vague compared to the sharp lines that made up his son. Henry's hearing must have faded too, because he thought he heard the smashing of glass, coupled with groaning steel. Henry felt wind rush past him, and it felt nice, it felt good. He heard different footsteps, but knew they couldn't be real, because he was on the bus, and Shawn had better not be standing right now in his condition.

Henry felt someone jerking at his arm, the one that was holding onto Shawn. Henry frowned and gripped harder. Who was trying to take his son? He couldn't let go. He'd promised Shawn he wouldn't let go. His arm was gently pried from Shawn's and Henry felt like crying out. Shawn wasn't supposed to be going! He wasn't supposed to leave him!

Henry's eyes stayed focused on Shawn's face as he was carried away. Shawn's eyes were barely open, and they were focused right on Henry. Once again, Henry saw the memory of the smile, the one that had been given when times seemed easier, and pain could be ignored. The two images overlapped, of the son who had smiled at him just before the crash, and the one in front of him now, who looked as though he had gone through battle.

Shawn was leaving him.

But Shawn was leaving so he could heal. If he left he could be the first Shawn, the one who smiled and could avoid pain.

Henry watched his son as he was carried away, and their eyes met. Henry wasn't sure what Shawn saw in his eyes, or if he was even conscious enough to see him, but Henry stopped struggling against the force that was separating him and his son.

He had to let go. If letting go meant Shawn could get off the bus, then he would do it.

Shawn moved farther and farther from him, until there was nothing in Henry's line of sight except the faded blue seats of the bus.

Everything seemed quiet now, without the beat of Shawn's pulse there. Not even the falling glass or the sound of sirens seemed to fill the silence.

Henry felt his eyes closing, and gladly shut them, ready to rest. It appeared that the only thing that had kept him awake until that moment was his death grip on Shawn's wrist.

Henry let go of consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own Psych.**

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who's read! After this there's only an epilogue left. :)**

It wasn't like a book or story, where you woke up in a hospital bed and everything was magical and okay. He didn't wake up to find the pain in his head gone, or to be sucking a lollipop and skipping out the hospital doors.

Yeah, no.

Henry groaned and fought back nausea as someone began to gently shake him awake. At least the idiots knew enough not to shake his bad arm.

"Sir, you have to wake up," a female voice said.

Henry blearily opened his eyes. Out of his peripherals he could see the great monster of the bus lying on its side. There was no longer any glass in the windows, and the blue paint had been scraped off the sides by the beating that the vehicle had taken. The smell of gasoline tainted the air, and made Henry want to gag.

It was funny, the bus looked a lot less menacing now that he was on the perimeter of the crash. While Henry had been inside he had felt...well, terrified of the bus. Of the destruction it had caused. It had been a symbol of everything that had gone wrong that day. But now the bus looked like a defeated soldier; just as much of a victim of the crash as Henry has been.

Henry saw the hustle of an emergency team, and watched as the police cruisers and ambulances gathered around the scene. There were people in uniforms scurrying about, trying to fix the accident, trying to repair the damage it had caused. When he was a cop these kind of scenes were something he had become accustomed to. Now he felt like a stranger in his own element.

Henry realized he was lying on a gurney. A woman in a paramedic's uniform stood over him, her eyes assessing his injuries critically. She picked up a bandage and held it to Henry's head. He winced at the pressure, but didn't say anything.

"Can you speak to me?" she asked. Henry grunted and tried to sit up, but the woman pushed him back down. "Try to stay still; you've just been through a bus accident."

_Really? _Henry though sarcastically. If he had enough energy he would've berated this woman for stating the painfully obvious and wasting his time. Time that should be spent finding Shawn.

"My son," Henry muttered. He tried to get up once more only to be pushed back down by the woman. His head flared with pain again and he gasped for breath.

"Stubborn bastard," she muttered. Then she realized who he was asking about. "Your son; he's the one with the leg wound?"

Henry nodded and the paramedic winced sympathetically. "He'll be fine," she said quickly. "Now we need to get you to a hospital, okay? There's a large probability that you have a concussion, so you're going to have to stay awake too."

Henry didn't hear her. He couldn't get himself to think past her first sentence.

_He'll be fine._

Not a straight lie, but she showed enough tells for there to be no chance in hell that it was the truth. Oh God, his son.

Henry looked around wildly, trying to spot Shawn, but Shawn had been lost amongst the chaos of the scene. His head _very _much protested the movement and Henry found himself once again slipping into the arms of the blackness. The red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles illuminating the night sky were the last thing he saw.

***

He drifted in and out for the next few…hours, he supposed. It was hard to tell time since the accident.

He always felt like he was at the brink of sleep, and he would have gratefully passed out, if not for the hand that always seemed to be shaking him awake right as he was ready to completely slip into unconsciousness. He wanted to sleep. Sleeping might take away the God damn pain.

Henry vaguely remembered feeling nauseous and being taken to a hospital room, but he couldn't focus much on his surroundings, he was just too tired. He was just too tired…

***

Henry wasn't sure how much time had passed since the accident, but he woke up what seemed to be only a little while later to the white of a hospital room. Henry stared at the ceiling and groaned. He definitely had a concussion. Henry tried turning on his side, but that only earned him a new dose of pain as he put pressure on the cast that was now wrapped around his arm. He wasn't about to try and sit up again either, not after the lovely results he had gotten with it before.

Henry sighed and collapsed back into the bed. He tried to figure out what had happened, tried to look around the room, but he couldn't _see, _not with the headache he currently had. He couldn't even observe the room around him; he only seemed to be able to stare at the ceiling. He just couldn't _see._

That was what probably pained him the most. He was a former-cop, without being able to read the objects and people around him he felt blind.

_It's said that when you're deprived of one of your five senses, that your other four compensate by becoming sharper._

Henry closed his eyes as he remembered one of his own lessons. He could hear gurneys being wheeled around him. He could hear the beep of machines and monitors (when did they put those on him?). He could hear…

Henry's eyes snapped open. He turned his head and searched for the source of the noise. And sure as hell, there Shawn was in the hospital bed only a few feet away from him, loudly breathing through his mouth like he'd always done.

Henry winced at his son's appearance. Shawn looked like he had just gone through hell (or more likely a bus crash and several major surgeries). There was a large, menacing cast on his leg, and its size made Shawn's body seem small and fragile in comparison. Shawn had various tubes sticking out of him, and there was a pint of B- by his bedside. The red blood made Henry nauseous, though back when he was a cop he had never even winced at the sight of it.

"Shawn," he whispered. His son didn't stir. Henry leaned over slightly, careful not to put any weight on his arm. His muscles were trembling from being in this position already, but he stayed where he was.

"I know you're not awake, but you listen to me," he said. He wondered if Shawn could even hear him, or if he could, if he would just ignore Henry out of spite. Not that Henry didn't deserve it.

"It's always this day, isn't it?" Henry chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's always today. I keep telling myself our family's not completely screwed over and then I keep being proven wrong."

"But damn it, Shawn," he said fiercely. "I am not going to lose you again. You can't leave, you hear?" Henry tried to ignore the feeling that he was speaking to a corpse.

"What you said today…" Henry sighed and shifted on the bed. "It was truer than you know. I couldn't hold onto your mom, and I couldn't hold onto you. But damn it if I'm going to give up on you now." He reached across the space between them and grasped Shawn's hand. Henry felt like he was saying the same things over and over again. He was just restating the past, repeating the same mantra. He wanted to say something new.

"I'm sorry," Henry finally whispered. He wondered why it was easier to apologize to someone who couldn't even hear you. And he wondered why it was so hard to apologize when it was really needed.

Henry squeezed Shawn's hand to remind him that he was still there, as silly as it seemed. "You got off the bus. You have no idea how glad I was when you got off that bus. I know it's hard, but you're not a quitter, Shawn. Don't give up on this."

Shawn's eyelids flickered. Henry felt hope from somewhere inside him, and held onto it like a liferaft.

Shawn's eyes opened up in the smallest of degrees, and he looked right at Henry.

"Dad," he whispered.

"Shawn," Henry sighed, relieved. He grabbed Shawn's hand tighter and smiled.

"I'm sorry," Shawn mumbled, already falling back into his drug-induced slumber.

Henry almost shook his head in disbelief. He wondered if Shawn would appreciate the irony of himself apologizing to him when it should be the other way around. He didn't think so though. Shawn wasn't really one for irony. And it wasn't something that Henry found to be all that funny.

Shawn didn't have to be sorry. And more than anything, Henry wanted him to know that. He wanted to say it was all his fault. He wanted to say that he was sorry. He wanted Shawn to hear it this time.

But that wasn't what Shawn needed right now. Henry knew it wouldn't be easy to recover from this. So Shawn needed to know that things could get better. That he would heal.

"Everything's okay, Shawn," Henry said. "You're here now."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Own nothin'!**

**Author's Note: Last chapter, thanks to everyone who read! :)**

Shawn and Henry sat at the kitchen table.

The kitchen was the room that held the most memories, the most emotions, in the house. Anger had filled the room, along with frustration and grief. There had been happiness too, and love. The kitchen was where all of these emotions mixed and mingled, and where they faded away as different ones took their place.

But now there was a new feeling added to the mix, though Henry wasn't quite sure what to identify it as.

Shawn and Henry weren't okay. Neither had recovered from their wounds. Henry still had his headaches and Shawn still clutched his leg in pain every day.

Henry had been allowed to go home from the hospital after a few days, but ended up spending most of his time there anyway, at Shawn's bedside.

Henry was there day and night, not ever wanting to go to bed for the fear of Shawn dying while he was asleep. It was silly of course, to think that. Shawn was recovering, the doctors had said so.

But even their reassurances didn't stop Henry's nightmares. These days it was rare for him to be able to sleep without being immediately woken up by horrible nightmares of motorcycles speeding away in the night, and red stained glass falling from the sky. Though those weren't as sickening as the ones where Shawn was bleeding out of his leg, and Henry was unable to reach him. The dream always ended with Shawn reaching out, and Henry unable to close the chasm between them.

Henry still suffered devastating headaches, though the constant pain he had gone through in the first week or so diminished into a dull, almost unnoticeable ache in time.

Henry felt like Shawn had gotten it worse. Though Henry's impromptu procedure after the crash had saved his son, it had caused minor muscle damage. In addition to the massive blood loss he suffered, Shawn was in the hospital for weeks for treatment for his leg.

Henry visited him every day, glaring at the nurses when they tried to insist that visiting hours were over, and thinking his silent mantra of, _I'm sorry, _every time Shawn struggled through physical therapy. He tried to help, support Shawn as he slowly healed, but he felt like there was nothing he could do for his son. It was like he had never gotten off the bus.

Henry wasn't completely sure if Shawn had the nightmares as well. Whenever he asked Shawn about it, he would only receive a weak smile in return, and the subject would be changed.

Henry felt angry when Shawn tried to brush off the accident, when he claimed to be fine, and that it wasn't a big deal.

His son obviously hadn't had to watch the life slowly drain out of him while he stood by helplessly. He didn't have to watch as a slideshow of memories flashed before his eyes, bringing guilt and grief to him that he had been trying to deal with for fourteen years.

That wasn't fine. That wasn't okay.

Henry had insisted that Shawn stay in his house for the next few days. He sensed that something was wrong when Shawn didn't protest. Shawn never went along willingly with what he said. Whether he was twelve and Henry was bringing him to the hospital, or thirty-two and Henry was trying to lecture him about a case, the kid didn't listen. But this time Shawn only sighed and limped his way into Henry's house, more than a month after the accident.

Shawn immediately sank into the kitchen chair and rubbed his leg gingerly, almost unconsciously, as Henry followed him into the room. Shawn looked pained, more pained than Henry had ever imagined he could be.

Henry sat down at the table, and suddenly it was two men trying to avoid a subject all over again.

This time it was Shawn who brought it up.

"Dad, I'm…sorry," he admitted, jumping straight to the chase, which was unusual for him.

"Shawn, don't be-"

"No, I said stupid things before the crash, and it's all my fault it happened," Shawn said, his eyes filled with unspoken sadness. He looked ready to fight Henry to prove himself right, but at the same time weary, and ready to give up.

Henry knew where that sadness had come from. Damn it if he hadn't felt that way dozens of times since Shawn left. The sadness, the grief, stemmed from anger. It stemmed from guilt. The guilt of words said, and unsaid, and the unforeseeable results that they sometimes produced.

"It isn't your fault," Henry insisted. "I know you feel like taking the blame for it all, but that's not the thing to do. Not if you want to move on."

Shawn nodded slowly and listened, for once not interrupting his father as he spoke. Their eyes met briefly before Henry spoke again.

"I could say it's my fault," Henry continued. "Hell, I want to say it's my fault. I want to say I'm sorry, and wish it could turn back time. But what would that solve? It's no use replaying the past in our heads, Shawn. Otherwise you'll be stuck living the crash for the rest of your life."

They both knew that he wasn't only talking about the night of the bus accident.

Shawn smiled, still a shadow of the once large grin that had been on his face. But it was closer. And for now it was enough.

Henry patted Shawn on the shoulder before getting out two bowls and a box of cereal.

There was a new feeling in the kitchen. Henry wasn't quite sure what it was.

But it felt like closure.


End file.
